At sixes and sevens

For those not familiar with this idiom, it means a state of total confusion and disorder, or of disagreement between parties. I hesitated calling this post “six feet under or in 7th heaven”, but the other one definitely fits better. Had I called it the latter, I would have had to explain: No, not the television series. Sadly, no. Although you might think that with all this time on my hands over here, I’d either be fresh out of new episodes for having watched every one of them – from all of the series in all the land – or I’d have memorized all 700 pages of my study book and the accompanying lecture script. Well, still no. Don’t know where time goes over here. I can seriously contemplate writing a post about my day in the evening and already forget what I did that morning. Just like color and rationality, it all goes missing in some black hole this country makes up. Which leads to this, the epiphany of every procrastinator: summing up the week-end on a Tuesday.

So I’m guessing I got up, at some point, on Saturday morning. I think it was rather early, actually, and my mom wasn’t even up yet, but the little one was. So we ate breakfast together until our mom joined us. Since my older sister was coming that day, my mom and I talked about how we were going to approach a certain subject we wanted to discuss with her. When was the best time, considering Christmas coming up and that she is supposed to leave with me on the 29th, should we talk to her together or would she feel like we were ganging up on her, do we talk straight forward or beat around the bush to avoid upsetting her, etc. As you can imagine, this took a while. By then it was noon and time to get dressed. We were expecting my sister at about 13h, but it turns out that’s about the time she got up. Later, she fell back asleep, so she got here only at about 19h. This was probably due to the fact that she works crazy hours, still goes out at night and – to top it off – has a nasty cold she’s been dragging around for some time. It didn’t help that she had her office Christmas party Thursday night, even though she had to be at Roissy (an airport on the other side of Paris) at some ungodly hour the next morning. As is to be expected, they all got hammered at the party (open bar, go figure, at a place where normally a cocktail costs 30 euros, I kid you not), she only slept three hours, didn’t have time to grab a breakfast or wash up, and then worked that Friday again until 20h. What fun a working life is in France!

So she was recounting all this to us that evening, showed me the pictures she took of the little ones birthday, I showed them the Amsterdam pictures (albeit half of them somehow went missing in the transfer) and we generally caught up. Until it was time to catch up in the series, which is why I lugged my external hard drive here in the first place. Yup, 200 GB of vicarious living were waiting upon us, it was time to get cracking. And that’s what we did, until I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore and decided to call it a night. She probably went on until 3 in the morning, her usual schedule.

The next day I managed to get up at a fairly normal hour, which can’t be said about my sister. Which is to be expected, I guess, since she’s on vacation and was now even sicker because of finally getting some rest. I spent the time finishing my book (yay!), playing with the little one and completing my family tree. I now have 118 relatives in there, dating all the way back to the 18th century. All pure-bred Germans, all from the same neck of the woods, until my parents came along and had to mix it all up.

Speaking of traditions, it was also the fourth Advent this Sunday, and even the little one knows the words to the German song we usually sing while lighting the candles. We had it all prepared – the ring of four candles, home-made Glühwein, Lebkuchen, Spekulatius, Stollen, the whole shebang. A nice family feast. Until my mom had to invite her guy and ruin it all. I thought at least when my sister was here that he’d stay away – she thought that he would come over less often as soon as I was there, even the little one (and she just turned seven!) asked us why he was there so often, and that she would rather see him less. I at least made it clear to my mom that I would like Christmas Eve and Day to be just between us. I made this time bearable for myself by chugging down a mug of hot Glühwein and calling The BF. He says, when I’m here, all he hears from me are complaints. He’s worried in what state I’ll be coming back. I told him I’d be wearing a straight jacket – becoming, yet practical.

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